


Room With A View

by Valk



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Face-Fucking, M/M, Open Relationships, Semi-Public Sex, Tenderness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-15
Updated: 2018-05-15
Packaged: 2019-05-07 10:47:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14669526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Valk/pseuds/Valk
Summary: A tender reunion during hard times, courtesy of Leliana.





	Room With A View

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Eissa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eissa/gifts).



> This is my return to writing after several years of unfinished stories, so whoo, go me! I hope you enjoy, Eissa!
> 
> Special shout-out to Jared, who is as patient as they are covered in hair.

Mikhail looked up at the castle and let out a long, low whistle. “Impressive. Surprised it’s stood for so long, considering the wind.”

Leliana made a noise of agreement, but didn’t slow her pace across the bridge; “The man who found this place says it was protected by a deep-seated magic, back when it was built.”

“And do you believe him?” Mikhail shot back.

Leliana shrugged a shoulder, a hint of a smile pulling her lips up. “Who knows?”

They didn’t pass through the portcullis, as everyone usually did when entering Skyhold. Instead, Leliana and Mikhail slipped away from the caravan they’d joined up with on their way back and began moving through the trees hugging the cliffside. Leliana had found a way, as she always did, to avoid detection. They carefully picked their way around and under Skyhold, appearing in the prisoners’ cells that were, mercifully, devoid of prisoners. Guards were posted all the same, though, and they nodded at seeing two roguish bodies pulling themselves up from the broken floorboards and the rushing water beneath.

“Our Inquisitor doesn’t believe in keeping people down here,” Leliana explained, slightly out of breath and wringing the water out of her tunic. “It’s mostly used for storage and otherwise locked, but you can’t be too careful.”

Mikhail was still lying down face down on the ground, drenched in water. He let out a noise of pain, but otherwise stayed motionless. Leliana, seemingly devoid of compassion, toed the dwarf in the ribs and he let out a high-pitch squeak while rolling over.

“Rude. I was resting,” he said.

Leliana arched an eyebrow and replied, “How did you survive an Archdemon again?”

“Sheer youth, and some unscrupulous coupling. Is anyone expecting I’m here?”

Leliana motioned to the guards with a hand, and they knocked on the dungeon door. “The Inquisitor, Cullen, and our ambassador. No one else.”

A slow smile spread across Mikhail’s face, revealing several golden teeth. “And your agents… Is the Crow here?”

The guards on the other side of the door unlocked and opened it, giving Leliana and her compatriot a questioning look. The spymaster motioned with her hand, and the entourage of guards began walking up the narrow steps to the surface, leaving her and Mikhail alone.

She turned back, looking over her old friend as he righted himself and wrung out the water from his clothes. He’d changed very little since she met him in Lothering all those years ago, when survival and fear were the driving forces keeping them from ruin. Oh, but his skin had aged, gone from a few nicks here and there to looking like polished leather, cross-marked with scars she recognized and many she did not. His hair had begun to grey at the temples, but it was still plentiful and wavy, contained in a low ponytail at the nape of his neck. Despite all this and everything they’d been through, he came out more or less the same afterwards. A man broken and mended, broken and mended, over and over again, and facing the end of the world seemed like simply another trial he had to overcome.

“You’re looking sombre again,” Mikhail said, eyes narrowing at Leliana. “What are you thinking?” He removed his gloves, tucked them into his belt, and began walking towards the door. Leliana fell in step.

“Nothing. You look well,” she replied smoothly.

“That’s bullshit, but I’ll let it slide.” He took in a breath, held it. “Is Zevran…?” The dwarf trailed off, a flicker of vulnerability tightening his features as he looked up.

Leliana nodded. Mikhail exhaled, then laughed under his breath, “Good, good. I want to give him a scare.”

“Should I clear out a wing for you two?”

At that, Mikhail let out a bark and elbowed Leliana in the hip. “Shush. No, a room with a view will do.”

### 

The view from the tower is magnificent, golden rays stretching across the pink sky and only disrupted by the mountains and the lush forests below. It’s beautiful, Zevran thinks, and yet all he can focus on is how dangerous it is to put him in a room so high up where he could be thrown from and then peeled off the cliffside below.

He supposes he could do worse, though: it’s a simple room, but the furniture’s quality is good and solid, and speaks to the wealth the Inquisition has accumulated. Zevran opts to sit in the windowsill, looking at the pockmarked mountain cliffs and listening to the distant sounds of Skyhold. One of his blades lies across his lap, sharpened and oiled to perfection. The other is held aloft in the dying light, to better see the edge of the blade.

There’s a distinct knock - two fast, two slow, two fast - and he hears Charter’s voice softly call out, “Tavern in five,” from the other side. She isn’t waiting for a reply; Zevran listens to her footfalls grow distant as she descends the stairs. 

He puts the blade down in his lap with its twin, wraps them up in their cloth, and walks to his sack beside the bed. He’s between missions and letting things cool down before he’s deployed back to Antiva; calling him to meet in the tavern, as much as he yearns for it, would only draw more attention.

He hopes Leliana knows what she’s doing. He gives himself a quick look in the mirror to admire his jawline and to blow a kiss to himself, and he leaves. He’s not fond of being late.

Charter is waiting for him at the junction where Skyhold connects to the Herald’s Rest from the roof. Zevran worries for her face; she’s always so stern, he wonders if she’s ever unclenched her eyebrows in her life. Still, he must be a gentlemen.

“Ah, my dear Charter. How are you today?” he says, putting on airs as he offers her a smile and a wink.

She nods at him all the same - every single time - and turns her back to him. He doesn’t mind; he likes to treat her like he does everyone else: playfully, to avoid suspicion.

The upper scaffolding entrance is usually kept off limits except for The Iron Bull, whose room Zevran has become well acquainted with during his stay in Skyhold. Charter doesn’t enter, merely stands guard at the threshold and motions for Zevran to go through. Which he does, but not without wiggling his fingers over his shoulder at her. It gets him an eye roll, so he considers it a success. She all but slams the door behind him in response.

To his surprise, it isn’t entirely dark inside; a lit lantern hangs ten or so metres away. It’s a little ominous for a meeting spot, if Zevran is completely honest with himself, but if Charter is the one directing him then it for sure has to be Leliana’s doing.

Zevran finds a crate that looks like it was recently cleared of dust and dirt, and hops up onto it. From here, he can see part of the next level down, which has been cleared of its usual people playing chess or giving each other hand jobs. The light barely touches the rafters, giving the top floor an eerie glow and a feeling of displacement. It’s very Leliana, all things considered.

The door he entered from cracks open, and Zevran sits up a bit straighter as a silhouette he wasn’t expecting comes into view. 

It’s a head and a half shorter, broader where Leliana borders on waifish. Zevran’s hands slip to knives in his thighs as he stands, planting his feet for a fight.

When the lantern’s light begins to draw out features of the approaching figure - a leather boot, the hint of an intricately-braided beard - Zevran’s hands fall from his knives and hang limp. He is, for once, completely shocked.

As Mikhail steps under the lantern looking disgustingly amused with himself, there’s a moment where the only sound is the wind whistling through a cracked window and the sound of their shallow breaths. Zevran looks upon his Warden at first with a completely unreadable expression that quickly melts into one of adoration. Mikhail takes a deep breath, huffs it out, and breaks out into a stride towards Zevran.

“You--” Mikhail starts.

Zevran feels his feet moving, coming to stand directly under the lantern looking down upon his partner of over ten years. He doesn’t say a word, but brings his hands up to cup Mikhail’s beard and meet his mouth with his, openly moaning the moment their lips touch.

Mikhail’s thick arms come to entwine around Zevran’s waist, holding him flush to his much stockier body. How he’d missed this elf. At the sound of Zevran moaning so wantonly at the simplest of touches, Mikhail laughs into the kiss and pulls back.

“So starved. You’d think you hadn’t had anyone since I left,” Mikhail murmurs, grinning up at Zevran, his eyes crinkling at the corner.

Zevran can’t help but grin back, pressing his forehead to Mikhail’s, “I have so much to tell you, but not now,” he sinks down to his knees unceremoniously, eyes never leaving his dwarf, “first, I want you down my throat.”

Mikhail places a hand on top of Zevran’s head and traces it down the side of his face with calloused fingers. He stops at Zevran’s mouth, and presses his fingertips along his bottom lip; greedily, Zevran opens and bobs them halfway into mouth, never breaking eye contact. Mikhail groans in the back of his throat, and it’s Zevran’s turn to chuckle. He pulls back, looking smug.

It’s at that exact moment that the world, in its cruelness, decides to remind them that they aren’t alone. A peal of laughter, high pitched and trilling, comes up from the first floor along with more yelling. Zevran and Mikhail, turning from the commotion, meet eyes again and stare at each other for a second before snorting.

“Do you still want me down your throat?” Mikhail questions wryly, pushing Zevran back to make room for him on his lap. He all but dumps himself onto him, straddling him with a leg on either side, and looks incredibly pleased with himself.

Zevran pauses, taking in Mikhail being framed by the dim light from lantern, and wraps his arms around his stocky waist. “Yes. Eventually. For now, I just want to… take you in.” 

Zevran kisses his chin, his cheek, his brow; it isn’t so much a kiss, as it is him rubbing his face against Mikhail. The dwarf brings his arms up and links his fingers at the nape of Zevran’s neck, playing with the fine hairs back there, turning his face this way and that to allow Zevran to keep kissing him.

As Zevran places a kiss on the corner of his nose, he feels a surge of warmth and finally places a kiss on those lovely, large lips. It starts out as a single kiss, but quickly becomes two, then three, then Zevran opens his mouth and Mikhail threads his fingers up the base of Zevran’s head and grabs a fistfull of hair and tugs. The moan Zevran makes is drowned out between their mouths, but Mikhail delights in Zevran’s fingers clutching at his lower back in response.

Those same hands begin to loosen, letting Mikhail’s legs slip off Zevran’s lap as he’s tilted backwards. There’s so much clothing, so much he wants to do -- but one thing at a time. Mikhail pulls Zevran back in for an open-mouthed kiss and catches his lower up with his teeth as his elf tries to pull away.

“Hush, I need to make good on my promise,” Zevran whispers, his mouth catching at a corner. He began sliding down Mikhail’s body, hands tracing over buckles and buttons but skirting away again. He pushes Mikhail’s thighs apart to better frame his cock straining beneath his pants.

Again, Zevran is struck with the intense need to just stare at his Warden, his dwarf, his Brosca. He hasn’t seen Mikhail in almost a year, and something about this moment feels important, but he doesn’t know why. 

Zevran’s eyes look up to Mikhail, who’s staring at him with a knowing expression with those soulful brown eyes of his. Mikhail places his hands over Zevran’s, letting their heat soak into his, and says one word.

“Colour?”

“Blue,” Zevran replies automatically, and finds himself surprised that he, for once, agrees with himself.

His hands move a moment after he confirms, deftly untying the laces at the front of Mikhail’s pants and watching his cock slowly rise up from beneath its confines. Gently, Zevran pulls it out, and oh, how he’s missed him. How he’s missed this, the way his index and thumb can’t touch when wrapped around the shaft.

“Get down there,” Mikhail orders, not too loudly, but it serves its purpose all the same. 

Without a word, Zevran scoots back and lowers himself to fit between Mikhail’s legs. At this vantage point Mikhail’s cock looks incredibly intimidating, and it sends a thrill through Zevran thinking of all the ways he’s taken it. 

He begins slow, by letting his tongue circle the fat head, making sure to tongue the slit for good measure. Then, he wraps his lips around the head and sinks down, inch by inch, until half of it has disappeared. It hasn’t even been a minute yet, and Zevran can feel Mikhail’s thighs clenching and releasing, clenching and releasing.

Zevran pulls back all the way with a soft pop, raising his eyebrows at Mikhail, “Don’t finish on me yet,” he says, huskier than he expected.

“Oh shut it,” Mikhail says, exasperated, and gives Zevran a swat on the head for good measure as Zevran sinks back down onto the dwarf’s cock with a grin.

He picks up speed as he goes, bobbing halfway down and sucking and tonguing the head to a maddening degree of overstimulation before bobbing back down again. It’s driving Mikhail wild, this teasing; Zevran hasn’t bottomed out yet, and Mikhail fucking knows he’s being toyed with.

At the first tug from his balls pulling into him, Mikhail shoots a hand down, buries it into Zevran’s hair, and pulls him off his cock in one smooth movement. They’ve done this before, so Mikhail doesn’t have to use his full strength when he flips Zevran onto his back and repositions himself on all fours.

Mikhail drops to his elbows and knees, cock swinging barely above Zevran’s lips and tongue. Slowly, ever so slowly, he lowers it into Zevran’s mouth with a slow, agonizing groan.

When he bottoms out, it feels like a long-seated itch finally being scratched. He drags his cock back, then forward, bottoming out again, and Zevran takes it all with a heartfelt groan and a soft “fuck” when it completely leaves his mouth before plunging back down.

Mikhail becomes lost in the sensation of Zevran swallowing his cock so effortlessly, in the wet sounds of his cock dragging against tightly squeezing lips. His hips begin to pick up speed, snapping faster and faster as soft ‘ah ah ah ahs’ leave his mouth with each thrust.

Until now, Mikhail had forgotten where they were, but suddenly another peal of laughter comes up from the bar below, and oh. His hips snap faster, his breathing becomes more labored, and suddenly he’s coming all over Zevran’s face with a muffled groan into his elbow.

It takes him a moment to catch his breath, but eventually Mikhail shifts back and looks down. Zevran looks completely debauched; streaks of come cover one of his eyes, mixing with his tears and the drool that had escapes down the side of his cheek. The one eye that’s looking at him, though, is giving him a look of complete adoration; Mikhail feels incredibly humbled in the face of such trust, and can’t help but reach down and cup Zevran’s cheek.

“Welcome home,” Zevran whispers.


End file.
